Heartburn
by SongofHopeandHonor
Summary: The prince and the peasant, the sun and the moon. For all their differences, they find themselves drawn inexorably towards each other. Perhaps they have more in common than they previously believed. A collection of Zutara drabbles and oneshots. Each chapter stands on its own unless otherwise stated. Enjoy!
1. Ease the Ache

A/N: I thought I would put all the Zutara drabbles and oneshot requests I get on tumblr into one convenient collection. I take more prompts/requests through private messaging, or via my tumblr! So feel free to send me some C:

Reviews feed the muse, but your time alone is always appreciated!

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KATARA WAS THE healer in their relationship—not him. He didn't know how to look after a sick person—let alone an irritable sick person.

"Don't you usually handle these kinds of situations gracefully?" Zuko joked feebly, sifting through bags of herbs that he'd scrounged up from Katara's various cabinets.

"I'm not normally the one who's sick," she snapped, curling up on her side and pressing her palms to her slightly distended, aching tummy. Her heady was fuzzy and achy, and her nostrils were positively leaking with snot. She'd done her best to handle this gracefully, calmly directing Zuko to which herbs would do good, steering him away from the herbs that would do harm—but she'd been sick for a week, and her fever had yet to break.

Even she had her limits.

Zuko passed a hand over Katara's clammy forehead, careful to curl his fingers away from her teeth—the mood she was in, she just might bite him. Her trademark hair loopies had gone loose, and her coarse brown curls were limp and sweaty.

"Time for another bath," he said, trying to inject cheer in his voice—only to let out a whoosh of breath when the heel of her foot connected with his abdomen.

"Don't coo at me like I'm some kind of baby, Zuko!"

"I just—"

Her azure eyes narrowed and flashed—and he shut up.

"Hey, I'm sorry," he said, passing a dampened cloth over her pretty face, down the slope of her sturdy torso. "I just—worry and—"

Katara's mouth thinned down. "Don't worry." Her voice was thready and small. "I'm fine."

"But you—"

Katara cupped her hand around the column of his throat and coaxed his dry lips to her damp ones. He'd kissed her already, several times, over the course of this week. They'd long gotten over any fear that he would catch her illness.

"Hey, Katara, you don't feel as warm," he mumbled. Maybe it was the cool water but—he clasped a gentle hand over her forehead. "I think your fever broke." Something, a knot of tension that had taken up residence just below his heart the moment he'd felt her fever, went loose and liquid with relief.

"It's about Spirits' damned time." With that, she brought his lips back down to hers. "Once my stomach stops hurting, you should help me celebrate."

He traced two fingers down the line of her sturdy thigh. "I can do that."


	2. A Small Comfort

A/N: I wrote this as a gift fic for a friend! I hope you enjoy.

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KATARA WAS SURE of one thing regarding her relationship with Zuko—as tentative as it still was. That one thing being she could go to him when the stress of the long, hot days started pressing on her brain. When the headaches felt as if they would burst a vital vein.

"Sifu Stuffy Pants," Katara acknowledged him, dropping down beside him next to the crackle of the fire pit, folding her legs beneath her in a comfortable, familiar posture. Speaking to him, with him, was easier now. The two of them were already falling into the rhythm of what might be considered friendship.

"Katara," was the curt reply, his mouth twitching into a frown at the use of her nickname for him. To be completely honest, he preferred "Sparky" or even "Sifu Hotman". Katara's epithet for him only highlighted just how…_stiff and humorless_ he was.

And yet, he allowed her to taunt him with it.

No, he didn't "allow" her to do anything. Katara was a force of her own, as un-tameable as a storm of hail.

He admired her for that. Agni, he admired her for a lot of things. Next to Mai, she was the bravest girl he'd ever known.

Zuko braced himself, careful not to give away the reasons behind his stillness. Too often, Katara would surprise him, during these nightly meetings, with a slap of water to his face, initiating a short sparring match. The sparring matches often ended in a draw, but she always managed to beat him senseless in the meantime.

He had the brusies to prove it. But then, she often walked away with singed hemlines, and smelling distinctly of burnt hair.

Tonight, however, was not a night for blowing off steam.

"Thank you," Katara broke the silence and his quiet musings. "For…putting up with me and…well, you know." A vague hand wave to indicate their nightly sparring matches. "You always manage to make things interesting, Sifu Stuffy Pants."

"So do you, Katara," was his curt reply. Whether it was a compliment or…not, he meant it with everything he had. Katara was the most—interesting—girl he'd ever come across.

She surprised him by scooting closer and tipping her head against his shoulder. Zuko struggled not to fall into a coughing fit or flail away in panic. Was this…some kind of scheme on the waterbender's part?

Moments passed, and nothing happened. If anything, he could swear that the waterbender's breath had steadied into…the rhythms of sleep?

It appeared, Zuko mused, running a tentative hand down her coarse curls, that the waterbender had found a more peaceful form of comfort tonight.


	3. Thread

A/N: Whoops, an early update. This was yet another gift for a friend that I just wrote today. Thanks for the reviews, lovelies, and I hope you enjoy this one too!

This drabble is set during Season 3, right after "The Southern Raiders".

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SHE JOLTS A little when he threads his fingers through hers.

"What are you doing?" she snaps. For all the trust that has built between them since that powerful, forgiving embrace, he still manages to raise her hackles without really trying. Furthermore, his hand in hers _flusters_ her a bit, and she doesn't like that. Not at all.

"Sorry," he says, casting his eyes away to the ocean's surf. They're just sitting here, legs folded under them, feeling the sand press into and abrade their skin. "I just felt a little…lonely for some reason."

Katara softens a bit, and her mouth droops with a shared, empathetic loneliness. "Yeah. I understand that." At least she had something of a choice in abandoning her nation. The only thing that compels him to separate himself from his homeland is his sense of honor—and a martyr-like desire to save both the Fire Nation and the entire world from his father's selfish wrath.

"I know you do." His thumb runs over her wrist. She sits very still. The hairs on the back of her neck are standing up.

She opens her mouth. Tastes the briny wind coming off the ocean. Closes her mouth.

What exactly is she supposed to say? Do? There's something strung between them—something tight and fragile. Something that's been there since she saw—oh, she wishes she_ hadn't_ seen it—the soul-shattering tenderness in his eyes.

She regrets looking him in the eye after that embrace.

And at the same time, she doesn't. Her chest is singing, throbbing with something wild. Something she fears looking too closely at.

It's _potential_. Potential for…

Her fingers, one by one, clasp tighter around his.

"We can be lonely together," she says.

He nods and scoots closer. The lines of their hips press together. She does not move away.


	4. Never Friends

A/N: A post-war fic, told from a worried brother's prospective. It's inspired a little by this watch?v=JyuleKKSgyE. My readers who are familiar with BtVS will probably recognize it ;)

In any case, I hope you enjoy this-and if you do (even if you don't) I'd very much appreciate a review telling me what you think. Reviews help my muse!

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SOKKA KNEW MORE than his cheery, borderline lazy facade let on. And he knew, without a shadow of a doubt, that Katara and Zuko would never be _friends_.

No, not with the way Katara's fingers curled into fists whenever the Fire Lord passed by. Not with the way Zuko's lopsided eyes followed Katara's figure whenever she moved (much to Sokka's chagrin).

Katara and Aang were on a "break" (whatever that meant), and everyone knew that Mai had left Zuko some months ago (maybe she would come back; maybe she wouldn't). Everyone had thought, with every fiber of their beings, that Zuko and Katara were close as siblings, and just as platonic (they were wrong).

Maybe Katara and Zuko had been that way, before. But they'd forged a bond, and sometimes bonds broke, and sometimes they changed and morphed like raw clay in a furnace.

Sometimes they changed into uncomfortable things, things that made brothers flinch and worry and contemplate making threats. But Zuko, if he _really_ wanted Katara (Sokka prayed to Yue that he didn't), wouldn't allow one ragingly overprotective brother to get in his way.

Katara's blue eyes would go soft and wide around Zuko, even as she teased her "best friend" with a curving mouth and light words. Zuko stood straighter, deepened his voice, when Katara came near him.

And when they fought, Sokka (and everyone else) worried that the violent arguments would culminate in a passionate embrace.

They never did (yet).

Katara and the Fire Lord would fight and perhaps one day kiss and be drawn back to one another again and again by that bond they'd forged in blood and fire. Maybe they would hate each other.

But Sokka, who was far more observant than anyone (except Suki) would give him credit for, knew this much—

Katara and Zuko would never be _just friends_.


	5. Five Syllables Or Less

A/N: Has anyone here seen _The Swan Princess_? Yes? No? In any case, this was inspired by a scene in that lovely movie! I wrote this because childhood. I hope you like it! There's another Author's Note at the end of this proposing a question to you all!

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ZUKO'S JAW ACHED with the effort of keeping his mouth closed.

Katara was—_wow_, he thought numbly. He hadn't seen her decked in Fire Nation garb since right before Sozin's Comet. Then, she'd been a child (a beautiful child with a woman's hips and breasts). Now? She'd grown into that budding beauty of hers. Her skin was rich and dark, her hair loose and falling in soft waves to her sturdy waist.

_Red looks good on her_, Zuko thought, gulping just a tiny bit.

"Careful," Uncle Iroh whispered from behind the flat of his palm. "You might break your jaw on the floor. Master Katara," he went on, booming with happiness, "so lovely to see you."

Zuko shot his uncle a scowl, eyes going dark, before shuffling forward to greet his old friend. He took her hand in his—was his hand sticky with sweat? Agni, he hoped not—and nodded his head shallowly.

"Sifu Stuffypants." Katara shot him a look from beneath her lashes that—was _that_ flirtation he saw? Or was he just reaching? Either way, his pale face flamed hotter than the fire he bent. "I've missed you."

"I've—touched—missed you too." His fingers flexed. Her pulled his hand away, not sure whether he wanted to wipe it against his tunic or sniff the sweet scent that lingered on his palm.

"You look…"

Iroh aimed a gentle kick to the Fire Lord's shin. He winced, glared, and tried again, "Much…"

Katara lifted her eyebrows at him, blue eyes wide with expectation.

"…bigger?"

Katara's face collapsed on a scowl. Very distantly, as if through ears clogged by cotton, Zuko heard his Uncle slap a palm to his forehead.

"Do I?" The waterbending ambassador's pretty mouth turned down.

"I meant—you looked—more endowed—I—I, no, that's not what I—"

A splash of cool water to his face cut off anything else he might have said (spewed). Zuko squinted from beneath dripping lashes, watching Katara flounce off.

"You could write an essay on how to offend women in five syllables or less," General Iroh observed, clasping his squared hands together. "It might very well become a best seller." The old man's lined face was solemn, but his rounded eyes danced with amusement.

Zuko's shoulders slumped, and he trudged off to his waiting paperwork.

* * *

A/N 2: I'm _thinking_ of writing a collection of Zutara/General AtLA drabbles based on songs (like I don't have enough things to update hurr hurr). They won't be song fics, per se, because they won't have the lyrics in them, but they would be inspired by certain songs. Kind of like an iPod Shuffle challenge...I guess...what are all of y'all's thoughts on that?

In any case, thanks for reading!


	6. Brightest in the Dark

A/N: *casually updates because I can't concentrate on my novel-length fics whoops. If you have a prompt/request for me, PM here or on my tumblr!

* * *

**Two lovers**

She doesn't want to kiss him the first time, and yet she does, working her mouth under his and wrapping her fingers around that stupid, _stupid_ tail of inky hair. She scrapes her nails down the grooves in his scars, makes him hiss steam into her mouth.

He was taunting her, and then he got _too close_, ridged breastplate flattening out her budding chest. If she heard him make one more threat against her friends, she was going to_freeze his mouth shut_. She kissed him instead.

She kisses him and sends them toppling into a nearby pond, and continues to kiss him with a quiet fury even as the water freezes her limbs and ices her blood.

**Forbidden from one another**

"You should stop coming here." She draws her knees up to her chin and burrows her face between them. Her eyelids feel hot and itchy. "You should leave me alone."

"I _should_ be home, in my rightful place, too, and yet I'm not." He lets his fingers drift down the coarse roll of her braid, in a movement that's uncharacteristically gentle. "Just let me kiss you again, and we can pretend for a while."

"I'm tired of pretending, Zuko." She never calls him by name. She mumbles praises and curses and endearments, but no matter how hard he tries, no matter how well he utilizes his limited (nonexistent) experience, he can never wring his name from her throat.

"Katara…" He's just very recently learned _her_ name.

Her eyes lift to his face, snap in the milky light of the moon. "Just stop."

**A war divides their people**

He is shrouded in red. She is draped in blue. She moves with the moon; he rises with the sun.

His people oppress. Her people rise up and fight back.

She guards hope. He wants to crush it.

When ash rains down with the snow, she knows what is coming. She squares her shoulders and wonders which warship belongs to her lover.

**And a mountain divides them apart**

She should be grateful, when dust rains down and her airbending friend skitters into sight. When she embraces him, she tries to focus on his clean, childish smell and the softness of him in her arms.

If she absorbs herself with Aang, she won't smell Zuko anymore. Won't taste brimstone on her tongue, won't see flashes of blue and red behind her eyelids.

When Aang draws her to one side, when Iroh draws his nephew to the other, yellow eyes meet blue. There isn't a promise, or hope, in their eyes.

When their eyes meet, it is a declaration of love, and a goodbye.

**Built a path to be together**

Their lips meet peacefully for the first time. The contact is not over a bridge of lies and half-truths and mutual distrust. It isn't filtered by the all-consuming anger that is paired with a love that can never be.

Their lips meet in accord, gently, squeezing and parting between mingled sighs.

Katara flingers her arms around Zuko's neck, steps up onto his toes. She wraps two fingers around his crown, and her other hand grazes his scar. She hears, distantly, as if filtered through a tunnel, Sokka's cry of disgust, Suki's giggling sigh, Aang's grunt of acceptance.

The war is over.

But their love is not.

And while love may shine brightest in the dark, it is much more beautiful when gilded by the sun.


	7. Four Can Play at That Game

A/N: Just a silly, short piece that I wrote for my dear friends Socks (irockyoursocks on ffnet). I wanted to update this thing so I did.

* * *

"This is the worst idea you've ever had," Zuko deadpans. His good eye started to twitch steadily twenty five minutes (and eighteen seconds) ago, and it has yet to stop.

"No, seriously," he goes on when Katara's silence only thickens, "it really, really is. I mean, this is worse an idea than the thing with the turtleducks and the fireflakes—"

Her fingers pinch into the skin of his forearm, and she clasps him close before he can bark out a protest. "Quiet. You'll kill the mood."

Zuko squints across the palanquin (he hates riding in palanquins, he hates it, but this is even worse than usual), eyes drilling holes into the entwined mass of limbs that is Sokka and Suki.

Have they no sense of _decency_?

"I don't think," Zuko says, very slowly, deliberately keeping his voice raised, "that a storm of hail could 'kill the mood'."

Sokka's lips press so hard into Suki's that a sucking sound resounds throughout the palanquin, and both Zuko and Katara wince.

"I understand," Zuko continues, tugging Katara tighter to his side, "that your brother missed his girlfriend. But could he please refrain from sucking the mouth off my captain of the guard for five minutes—"

A breathy, catching moan tumbles out of Suki's throat, and Zuko decides that he might be sick.

"Zuko," Katara says, "just—"

Growling, Zuko tips Katara into his lap and smashes his mouth into hers.

Two—or rather four—can play at this damn game.


End file.
